


all these things that I’ve done

by Bit_Not_Good



Series: Cattle [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Breast Sucking, Do Not Archive, Dubious Consent, Erogenous Throat, Humiliation kink, Lactation, M/M, Milking, Oral Sex, breast pump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bit_Not_Good/pseuds/Bit_Not_Good
Summary: Followup to “not just bones“. Martin gets milked (again). Elias is terrible. Jon is less so.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Cattle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610434
Comments: 18
Kudos: 182





	all these things that I’ve done

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not necessary to read the first part of this series to understand it. In fact, this one contains significantly less body horror.
> 
> Many thanks to the_ragnarok for the beta!

When Martin gets to work a week later, chest carefully concealed under a jacket far too warm for the season, he prays no one will notice.

And for a while, no one does. They nod at him when they pass his desk like usual, and at lunch he makes tea and helps himself to the pink-frosted biscuits he’s kept hidden from Tim behind a packet of old digestives. Normally he wouldn’t waste one just because he’s feeling poorly, but today is a special exception.

It’s nearly two pm, and he’s finally started to relax, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Isn’t there something you’re forgetting?” Elias asks with a faint smile.

Martin looks up at him in confusion. “I’ve been out the past week, what with—the hospital situation, sir—” he starts, but Elias holds up a hand before he can finish.

“Come with me.”

Martin tugs his cardigan tighter—he’d had to shed the jacket mid-morning—and follows uncertainly, arms crossed as Elias leads him down into a section of the archives he’s not been to before. The hallway is full of nondescript doors, and Elias confidently leads him to one off to the left and ushers him in.

The room is generally unremarkable: a soft chair, a table, a couple magazines, a breast pump.  
  
Martin swallows. “Elias, I—”

Again, Elias holds up a hand. “I heard the statement you gave Jon,” he interrupts, all business. “You can’t be comfortable like that.”

“I—n- no, but—” This time Elias doesn’t bother to raise a hand, just speaks over him.

“Your work suffers when you don’t take care of yourself, Martin. We’ve had this conversation before.” Martin winces, remembering the sleepless nights he’d taken when he first arrived, skipping meals, arriving early and staying late as if in a desperate attempt to prove himself.

“Now. This room is here if any of our staff have need of it, and I’d dare say you do.” He looks pointedly at Martin’s chest, and Martin follows his gaze in dismay. It seems that while they’ve been talking, Martin’s milk has let down and begun to leak through his shirt and cardigan. “Shirt off, please.”

“What?” It hadn’t occurred to Martin that Elias might stay, might touch him in any way. “No, I’m sure I can—”

“Can what?” Elias interrupts. “Can sort yourself out, with a machine like this? Come now, Martin, I know you haven’t used one before, and from what I understand there’s quite a learning curve. No, I’ll help you, it will be faster and we’ll both be back to our work in no time.”

Given no other option, Martin can’t help but obey, slowly unbuttoning his cardigan and then his shirt, exposing his leaking tits to the chilly air of the archives. Even above ground, it’s cold enough that he shivers, and Martin watches numbly as Elias connects tubing to suction cups and plugs the machine in. He steps up without asking, and fits the plastic seals against Martin’s engorged nipples.

Martin squeaks. Elias smirks at him, turns back to the machine and flips a switch, and then Martin goes weak at the knees.

If he’s being honest, Martin hadn’t wanted to buy a breast pump to begin with. That would make all of this too everyday, and he’d been doing his best to forget it happened at all. And while manually expressing in the shower works well enough that he doesn’t leak most of the day, so far it’s ended with him curled in a ball, choking back tears on the shower floor, oversensitive and aching. And he’s at work again now, so midday showers aren’t an option anymore. 

The pump is fast, faster than Martin can achieve on his own, but the sensation is as alien as it is divine. He doesn’t realize he’s swaying till Elias puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him down onto his knees, and then Martin falls forward on his hands and pants as the pump pulls from him all he has to give. Distantly, he can feel himself growing wet, feel himself hardening, but for once he can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed.

Eventually the sound changes, and his nipples start to hurt, and Martin’s panting turns to pained whines. Only then does Elias stop the machine and crouch beside him. He fondles one of his teats, testing the plastic seal of the suction he has yet to remove. “Well done. I’ll get you a change of clothes from your desk and you can go home.”

Martin sits back cautiously on his heels, wincing at the wetness soaking his trousers. “But—” The protest dies on his lips as he sees Elias’ watch, and realises with a jolt that he’s been in the room for over an hour.

***

Martin doesn’t think to wonder where his milk will go, so he’s horrified the next day to open the breakroom fridge and discover that an unlabeled glass bottle of milky fluid is sitting on the top shelf, almost a litre from what he can tell. A cursory glance at the rest of the fridge shows that there are no other milk options.

Sasha reaches past him as he stands, staring into the fridge with shock, and pulls out the bottle. “I guess Elias decided we’re worth organic after all.”

“What?” Martin asks, looking up numbly as she pours a splash in her mug.

“Delivered this morning,” Sasha replies, nodding at the bottle as she returns it to the fridge. “Try some; sweeter than any milk I’ve ever bought.” So saying, she walks away, apparently unaware of the effect her words have had on Martin.

***

Elias finds Martin struggling with the door to the pump room just before lunch, and jingles a key at him.

“Please, I need to—give me that?” Martin holds out a hand, cheeks hot, but Elias just rolls his eyes and steps past him to unlock the door.

“I already told you, it will be faster if I help.” This time, he crowds into Martin’s space, unbuttons Martin’s shirt for him, his fingers brushing burning skin and leaving Martin shaky. “I know what I’m doing.”

This time, Martin’s only in the room for half an hour. At least he’d thought to pad his briefs that morning, so when he’s done, though uncomfortably damp, he can just button his shirt and leave the room.

As he gets to the door, though, Elias calls after him, sending a chill down his spine: “See you in a couple hours.”

***

This goes on for two weeks, Elias refusing to let Martin pump alone. Martin had thought about going to HR, but was too embarrassed to explain about what had happened to him at the hospital. After all, while Jon knew, it wasn’t like HR would believe him, right?

So he keeps quiet, and lets Elias undress him, touch him, milk him. Elias never touches anywhere he wants, though, never his arse or his mouth, just massages Martin’s breasts and affixes the cups.

It’s while they’re getting ready for an afternoon milking that things start to change. Martin’s shirt is open, and Elias stands in front of him, is holding his breasts, running rough thumbs over his nipples to make him shiver and sweat. Martin tries not to show how sensitive they are, truly, but Elias doesn’t seem to care, fascinated as he is by Martin’s predicament.

Martin closes his eyes, waiting for it to be over, waiting for Elias to attach the pump and grant him release. And then something wet touches his left nipple, and his eyes fly open in time to see Elias lick it, and then draw it into his mouth. He’s frozen for a beat, too shocked to move, and then Elias _sucks_.

He sobs aloud at the sensation, and tries to pull away, but Elias wraps an arm around Martin’s back to keep him in place and keeps sucking, and Martin can feel himself getting wet in his trousers, fast and heavy, and he jams three fingers into his own mouth to hide his whining.

The fingers turn out to be a mistake, though, because now he’s sucking, and Elias is sucking him, and his mind clicks over into a quiet place. Martin’s muscles turn to jelly, and Elias follows him, mouth still sucking firmly, as Martin sinks to the floor. He feels something, distantly, on his right teat, and then the breast pump starts up and his right side lets down too.

When it’s over, Martin can’t quite process what he’s feeling anymore, and when he comes back to himself he’s alone on the floor of the pump room, trousers soaked through the padding he’s wearing. He lies there for a while, under a blanket Elias must have draped over him, and when he sits up he sees that there’s a pile of clean clothing, a bra he definitely hadn’t brought with him, and a steaming mug of tea.

The tea is milky, and Martin stares at it for a long time before taking a careful sip. Sasha was right. It’s sweet.

***

The next day, it isn’t Elias who joins Martin, but Jon, scowling in annoyance. Martin flushes when he sees him waiting by the door. “Er, is Elias going to- I mean, where is he?” he asks, trying not to show how unnerved he is to find Jon standing there.

“He sent me to look after you today,” Jon responds irritably, holding up a key. “Seemed to think you needed _supervision_.” Martin scowls, and remains in the hallway till Jon pokes his head back out. “I haven’t got all day, you know.”

Martin turns away from Jon to unbutton his own shirt for once, face heating as he slips off the bra Elias had left him yesterday before turning back and jams it into one pocket. He kneels out of habit, and Jon, who had set himself to untangling the pump cords, turns to look at him and freezes. “Does he make you kneel?” he asks, voice sounding odd.

There’s a rushing noise in Martin’s ears as shame fills him, and he looks away, refusing to meet Jon’s eyes. “It works better like this,” he whispers. Jon stares at him, and when Martin looks back up he sees the man’s face has gone red too.  
  
“Would you rather do this on your own?” Jon asks, voice now almost pitying, and Martin finds he can’t think how to respond. He stammers something, might have choked on his own tongue if Jon didn’t choose that moment to extend the suction cups to him expectantly and clear his throat.

“Oh.” Martin takes one suction cup and swallow. It’s hard to get right with his hands shaking, but he can’t help the nerves at having Jon in the room with him, watching him. He knows, Martin is sure, just how much Martin likes him, and it makes concentrating hard.

There’s a long moment where Martin tries to get the positioning just right, biting his lip each time his sensitive nipple scrapes against the opening at the center of the cup, and then with an impatient sigh, Jon kneels next to him and bats his hand away. “Your nipples point down,” he says matter-of-factly, lifting one breast in his hand. “The angle is wrong, look—” He slides the suction cup into place and drops Martin’s breast, and Martin focuses on regulating his breathing and telling his hardening penis that it’s supremely unsexy to be touched like this. He fails.

Martin is far too wet by the time Jon has affixed the other cup, but if Jon notices he pretends to see nothing. He stands and without ceremony flips the switch, and Martin groans and falls forward on his hands as the suction begins. It takes a moment for his milk to let down, and he’s just starting to pant when he glances up at Jon and sees that he is staring down at Martin again, his face an even brighter red than before. What’s of more interest to Martin, however, is the tent in his trousers, and he whines from his place on the floor.

Jon startles at the sound and drops the cords leading back to the pump. Martin is salivating, trying his hardest not to lean forward for it, but Jon is harrumphing and clearing his throat, trying to look anywhere else as Martin debases himself. He sits in the chair, stands, paces the room and picks up a magazine before throwing it down. Martin swallows, again and again, feeling pitifully empty.

“Please…”

The word startles them both, and Martin barely notices that a little drool slips out with the word. He hadn’t meant to speak, but it’s like he can smell Jon, smell his embarrassment and arousal. “Please, can’t I suck you?” he begs, rocking back on his heels. His eyelids flutter at the sensation, and oh, any attempt at feeling embarrassment is gone. His skin feels too tight, and Martin scrabbles at the shirt hanging from his shoulders, trying to remove it and only succeeding in getting his wrists caught in the buttoned cuffs behind his back. He whines again.

The sound seems to shake Jon out of it, and, still staring at Martin, Jon moves back to the chair and unbuttons his trousers. Martin scrambles forward eagerly, and only Jon’s hand in his hair stops him from trying to suck him through his zipper.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jon asks shakily, and this close Martin can see that even his ears have turned crimson.

“P- please,” Martin begs brokenly. “N- need it, so much, p- please.” Jon nods, and unzips his trousers, and then Martin dives in, drooling onto Jon’s pants as he noses in towards his cock. Jon’s fingers push his face back for a moment, and Martin makes a sound of protest in his throat, but then Jon fishes his cock out and Martin swallows him down in one go.

Jon’s body bows out, rigid, as Martin begins to suck, feeling all at once pleased and unsatisfied. It’s not long enough to reach, even when the tip slips into the back of his throat, and Martin doesn’t realize he’s making more pleading noises till Jon’s other hand lands on his throat. Martin tries to jerk away, scared that Jon is going to choke him, but Jon makes a noise of protest and tightens his hand in Martin’s hair.

Martin keens, body going limp, and sucks harder, as Jon’s fingers wander lower, towards his clavicle. He can’t figure out what Jon wants, what he’s doing—

And then the world goes spangled and white, and if Martin’s mouth wasn’t full of Jon’s cock already, he would scream. Jon’s found the same spots Jared had reached, from the outside, and Martin presses closer as Jon makes a satisfied noise and begins to rub them. Martin groans, and whines, and if he weren’t so turned on he’s sure he’d be flushed red head to toe.

They stay like that for a few moments, long enough for Martin to settle into a rhythm, and then Jon’s hips thrust once, twice, and bitter spunk hits the back of Martin’s throat. He swallows hard, content to take all Jon can give, but then Jon gasps something Martin can’t quite make out and pushes at his forehead, shoving Martin off his cock. Martin rests his head against Jon’s knee and pants, open mouthed, as Jon’s other hand joins the first on his throat and continues to massage him. It’s bliss, and he tilts his chin up to allow Jon’s reach and closes his eyes. He would stay like this forever.  
Forever doesn’t last long, though.

Eventually his milk supply dwindles, and the rhythmic tugging on his breasts turns painful. Martin squirms, trying to stay still for Jon, and it takes altogether too long for the man to understand what’s wrong. When he finally gets it, Jon pulls his hands away, and Martin would protest if not for the fact that Jon reacts by ripping the still-sucking cups off his chest.

Martin gasps at the pain, and Jon slides down out of the chair and cups Martin’s face, displacing him back onto his heels. Martin opens his eyes slowly to see Jon staring at him, much closer than they’ve ever been. He pants, staring into those wide eyes, vaguely noticing that the pump sounds different when it’s sucking air, and then Martin pushes forward and kisses him.

For a moment Jon allows it, too shocked to move, and then he springs up and away from Martin. “I, sorry, I got carried away, I shouldn’t have—” Martin watches him pace the small room, hands tangled in his hair, and distantly realizes he’d be far more anxious if Jon’s soft dick weren’t still hanging from his trousers. He begins to laugh, suddenly feeling much more like himself again.

Jon freezes, scowling, and watches warily as Martin collapses against the seat of the recently vacated armchair, gasping with laughter. “I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he gasps, wiping his eyes, and slowly Jon’s shoulders sag as the tension drains. Martin’s laughter tapers out slowly, and then he sighs and looks up as Jon fidgets with the breast pump tubing. “I’d rather you— you milked me, than Elias, you know,” he says after a moment of silence. “If… you’re okay with that.”

Jon glances up at him, then away. His hands clench on the tubing, then relax, and the nod of assent is so small Martin almost misses it altogether. He smiles.


End file.
